She worked extremely hard herself and expected her staff to work equally hard. To be fair, from her point of view, if she had to work up to the moment of going to bed, then the next day caught staff gossiping or going out for a cigarette, it could be hugely frustrating. She was the one who had to worry about VAT, tax increases (always increases, never reductions), employers’ liability and so on.

Lydia worked off her frustrations in the gym. As you would expect, she exercised very hard too. It was an expensive gym to belong to (she didn’t want to mix with any of her staff outside work) and for some years she had taken advantage of its promotion of mixed martial arts. A quick learner, she became proficient in wrestling, karate and judo.

The staff would all know if she was going to the gym after work: she would give one of them the keys to her car beforehand and tell them to fill it up with petrol, and she would then drive off in her white gym leotard. Employees had to admit that she looked fine in it – the male members admiringly, the female members grudgingly. She had a superb figure, shapely and full-breasted. Mind you, she knew it.

There were two things in life that she heartily disliked – ignorance and petrol. She believed she could spot ignorance at first glance. As for petrol, its smell revolted her and she believed that merely putting some in your car made you smell of it. So she wasn’t happy, one day, when a meeting she had called overran and the staff had all gone when she wanted one of them to fill her car up.

She drove, tutting, to the garage. And there, at the pump, was the personification of the ignorance she so despised in people. A man was filling his car up, with his car radio blaring out some dreadful song. He had the national flag in his back window with words of encouragement for the country’s football team. Yes, she said to herself, definitely ignorant, probably a bit racist, too. On the other hand, he was at the pump, and he could just as easily fill her car up, too.

“Hey!” she called out, years of authority behind her voice.

“My name’s Gary,” the man replied, turning off his car radio.

“Whatever. Well, Gary, as you’re at the pump, fill my car up while your there.”

He walked over to within a few paces of her car. “I might do if you smiled and said ‘please’.”

Lydia opened her car door. “Typical. I suppose if I flashed my tits at you, you’d wash it as well.”

“What do you think I am?” Gary asked angrily.

She got out of her car and stood “casually” leaning against it. “I know you’re the sort of man I’d turn down in an interview straight away.”

“Are you a boss?” laughed Gary. “My God, I pity the poor fuckers who work for you! Ah, what the -?” Using the car as a springboard, Lydia launched herself at him, to land a flying kick to his head.

If he didn’t have an instant pain in the head, Gary would have thought he must be dreaming. But no; this madwoman was all too real. He knew that if he didn’t escape or fight back, she could do him serious harm – as shown when a smart gym shoe struck him just below his right eye (Lydia expertly using the car door to support the kick).

Dazed, Gary backed away. But it only intensified her fury, and she came after him with her fists. A right cross to the head felt as hard as her foot had done. In this surreal situation, Gary noticed her crouch, as if he were watching it on a screen and he wasn’t there. But then he felt her fist on his jaw. She hammered it with a rising left cross and he staggered haphazardly over the forecourt, trying to stay on his feet.

In fact he looked like going down, so Lydia reached out and grabbed his hand to steady him. But it was only so she could plant an expert high kick to the temple. This was her gym substitute. She usually worked off her work/life frustrations on the treadmill or the exercise bike, occasionally in the formal ring or MMA cage. On this occasion, those frustrations had tipped her over the edge before she got to the gym, and the unfortunate Gary happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The injustice of it all struck him, and he swung a left hook that missed as Lydia arched her body to escape it.

You may ask, why didn’t anyone intervene? The answer is for the usual reasons. Some motorists were enjoying what they thought of as a free show. Others felt they should try and stop it, but were scared of getting in the way of Lydia’s kicks or fists. The same went for the staff.

Gary, fired up and aggrieved, tried again, but Lydia blocked an attempted body shot. Then their legs banged together, hurting both of them, as kick was met with repulse. The fight had reached a second stage with Gary making an effort to counterattack. Although he was unsuccessful, he appeared to get the measure of his opponent, and he managed to ward off a broadside kick with his arms.

Lydia jumped at him for another flying kick. But this time she didn’t catch him by surprise, and he managed to avoid it. She flew past him, but landed perfectly, considering she had to adapt because she had missed him. Not only that, she spun round, grabbed his right wrist and palm struck him on the chin.

It did Gary as much psychological harm as it did physical. Physically, it jerked his head back, hurting his neck. Psychologically, it abruptly ended his mini revival. Even drivers watching through their car windows felt it. Recently, he had been resisting quite well and appeared to be the equal of his opponent; now, this blow to the chin swung the momentum back to Lydia, and the fight entered its third phase.

Attempting to draw her into a clinch, Gary got a fierce punch in the mouth. Drivers with their windows down heard a nasty “smack” sound, followed by a muffled cry from Gary, as her knuckles tore his lips and his head rocked back again.

He turned away from her, perhaps to run away. But his bearings were all to pot and he found himself facing her car. Before he could adjust, there was a hideous crack on his already painful neck from a karate chop, coupled with Lydia’s right leg tripping him up by his left leg, and he landed on her driver’s seat because the door was wide open. She kicked the door so that it banged hard against his back. She may have been a respected MMA student, but she was no slouch when it came to good old-fashioned brawling either, making use of anything that was to hand.

Lydia pulled the door open again and Gary turned round to escape. But she had him cornered within the confines of the car.

“I’ve always wanted to do this,” she murmured, launching one gleaming black-and-white gym shoe into her male opponent’s balls. Gary gave a deep groan and fell backwards onto the driver’s seat.

“Get out of my car, you moron!” she shouted, pulling him back out before hurling him to the ground with a superlative judo throw.

The cold, harsh tarmac of the forecourt met the ribs of his right side, while the demon in the white leotard held him by his left wrist. Gary yelled as she slowly locked his individual fingers. So far, Lydia had shown impressive and surprising strength; now she hardly needed to use any strength to inflict the most extreme pain on him. She used both hands to torment his fingers and thumb, laughing how easy it was to make him howl.

She sighed, like a child having to leave a favourite toy, briefly knelt on his right arm, then dragged his left arm into a lock. She hauled it about, abusing his shoulder joint to the maximum. Gary’s shouts echoed around the forecourt.

When Lydia considered his arm to be useless, she stood up and attacked his right arm in a similar way. Standing over him, she held it steady with her left hand, while she bent his hand to an extreme angle from his wrist. She placed her foot on his shoulder, gripped his arm in both hands and heaved, while pushing him down with her foot. Flames ignited in his shoulder joint stretched to his fingertips.

“Enough!” bawled Gary.

Enough indeed. There were no cheers, and no applause. No one wanted to admit to having watched and enjoyed the fight. But the sight and sound of several cars driving away at the same time signified that there had indeed been an audience, which Lydia’s triumphant posing over her defeated male foe acknowledged. Then it grew strangely quiet.

“Now,” Lydia menaced Gary, about to get up, “are you going to fill my car up, or not.”

“Okay, okay,” he appealed to her, before running to the pump to do just that. Moments later, petrol was merrily gurgling into her tank.

*****

Lydia drove off, deciding contentedly that she had had enough exercise for the day without going to the gym.